


Um Cannibal Lammy

by Madeline69



Category: Um Jammer Lammy
Genre: Arson, Cannibalism, Cooking, Crime Fighting, F/F, Graphic Description of Corpses, Halloween, Hell, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, Short Chapters, Trans Female Character, dead men don't rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 12,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madeline69/pseuds/Madeline69
Summary: Lammy gets hooked on eating people. This makes things complicated with Katy.





	1. The early morning of Oct. 2, 1998: First Bite

It’s chewy. Not chewy by the nature of what it is but chewy because it’s cooked wrong. Wrong in the kind of way she can’t put her finger on. It’s like biting through a ball of twine, she thinks. For the first time since she got home she thinks. 

She thinks about the party. About the friend she drove there - Ratty - loudly going on and on about how she’s technically a pastor. How it’s going to open up so many opportunities for her. She thinks about her drug dealer, thinks about how she was going to ask him something. Thinks about the fact that she can’t remember what.

“Hey Lam, have you met--” She can’t think of his name. She hasn’t yet, she won’t.

“No.” She kept it short. She wasn't in the mood to meet new people.

“Well, listen.” She remembers that familiar bargaining smile. “You owe me one. I think we can agree on that, and this guy thinks you’re really something so, y'know… go over there and meet one of your fans.”

She wouldn’t have done it otherwise. She was comfortably half sunk into the leather seat, the folks around her were more than happy to share, but what was the harm in meeting a fan.

“Hey. You’re Lammy right?” As though he didn’t already know. She thinks about the drink he handed her. Kicks herself for not checking it. Kicks herself again for drinking it.

“I am.” She replied.

“That’s so cool. I love your band, it’s like… it really speaks to me. It reminds me of the band I was in when I was your age.” He must’ve been- she can’t think about that. When he was her age must’ve been a long time ago.

“That’s cool.” She remembers a dull pain forming behind her eyes.

“I was actually just leaving, but maybe you could come back to mine and we could jam?” he asked.

“Oh, no thanks I have to drive my friend home.” She remembers a pause, the pain behind her eyes swelling.

“Listen. I know your whole… thing.” He glances down at Lammy’s crotch. “To be real with you, I’m a very attractive guy. I think you should be flattered.” She thinks about the sudden wave of nausea that overcame her. She thinks about her dealers words, echoing in the back of her mind.

“You owe me one.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just feeling really sick and I think I should go home.” Lammy said as she turned to walk away.

“I’ll take you home.” That’s what he said.

She thinks about being the back of that bastard’s van. She thinks about the cold drops of sweat rolling across her brow. Watching them pool in front of her eyes, paralyzed helpless to do anything but watch.

She thinks about what she could hear, the words that dictated her future, the joking tone of a man so bent on a quick fuck he would kidnap a highschooler. She thinks of finding a new dealer. She thinks she will almost certainly have to.

“I mean fuck. This is strong stuff you sold me, she’s just lying there. I could eat her alive and I don’t think she would move.” That’s what he said. That might have been almost what he said. He was joking. Look at where it got him.

She thinks about finally dragging herself up from the cold floor of the van, finally feeling how cold it really was, feeling the un-cushioned vibration of a speeding vehicle against her forehead. She thinks about how long it’ll be bruised for. 

She thinks about the moments before she checked her pockets, her phone, her wallet, and her knife are still there. She thinks about how cocky this guy must be. She thinks about killing him, feels a knot in her throat as she realizes she might have to.

She remembers her hands, shaking so hard that the blade rattled in it’s handle. She remembers steadying it, stumbling up to the front of the cab, and pressing it against his throat.

“Take me home.” Her words are slurred. It takes a few hard breaths to get them out.

“Woah, okay. Okay. Calm down. I was just taking you-” He never got to finish. The hollow metal construction of the panel van boomed over a speed-bump. It wasn’t. She thinks.

She thinks about the blood - surprisingly hot - as it ran out from his throat and down through her fingers. She thinks of the chills of instant freedom combined with sudden overwhelming nausea as she dragged him into the back and drove herself home.

She thinks about the weight of the body, the sound of the gravel shuffling beneath the lifeless mass as she dragged it up the secluded drive. The rush of relief to find a note in her father’s handwriting taped to the front door.

Lammy. Work wants me for an emergency business trip until end of October. There's food money in the jar in the kitchen (don’t buy drugs!) Have a happy Halloween. I love you. Pops.

Usually absent, but a good dad. He would have been devastated if she hadn’t been there when he got home. She starts to feel better. She drags the body to the bathroom, drops it in the tub, and throws up. She starts to feel better.

She checks her phone for the first time since the party. There’s one missed call from Ratty. One message. She doesn’t have the energy to listen to it, but it would be cruel not to call Ratty back.

“Hey where are you!” The music still deafening in the background.

“I killed him.”

“What?” She sounded more shocked than confused.

“He was going to-” She remembers her breath hitching loudly, finally letting the raw emotion overtake her.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I’m on my way over.”

“Don’t. He- I don’t know what to do.” His words ring in her ears.

“I could eat her alive.” But that’s ridiculous. She remembers taking a deep breath. Feeling suddenly calm.

“I could eat her alive.” That’s what he said. Her calm turns to resolve.

“I could eat her alive.” Those were his exact words.

“I’m going to have to call you back Ratty.” She says, cutting her friend off in the middle of another apology suddenly overcome with a feeling of emptiness. She remembers licking her lips.

And it was too chewy. Biting through the skin felts like trying to chew through a piece of carpet. So she tries again, and this time it’s burnt, and the skin isn’t a problem anymore, and if it wasn’t so burnt it might actually taste good. So she tries again and it’s under-cooked, and she can’t help but spit it out because the taste is just too familiar. So she tries again, and actually it’s pretty good. So she tries again, because she has to get rid of all of this eventually, and it’s pretty good again. She tries again, and again, and again, and then it’s kind of perfect.

So for the month of October she feasts. She is warmed by the same fire she uses to burn his bones in the backyard, and she’s hooked.


	2. The evening of Oct, 30th, 2000: Trick or treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy sees an old friend, then gets in a fight with her band-mates.

It was hard getting back into parties, but it got easier. It was easier to find pray, easier when she would go back, easier when she started to notice the men that kept her full were rarely asked after. 

 

It started out as a necessity. She needed to hide a body, and a body doesn’t burn well; it’s wet. Now it's a hunger. A deep starvation with one cure, and nobody ever missed the first one. 

 

So she got back into parties, and this one is special to her. After two years on the road, playing shows at half million seat venues she’s finally home. A rotted out old church - the perfect place for a halloween party - old friends and the same old town.

 

The show is easy, it’s reflex. The rest of her bandmates seem bored, a dull look has been persistent in their eyes since she told them this gig was a favor. They leave as soon as the set is over, Lammy barely notices them leave and hangs back, blending herself into the crowd. It feels like her whole childhood is here.

 

“Hey Hannibal!” Lammy’s head snaps around to see Ratty, raising a water bottle at her. She works her way through the dancing mass of bodies until they’re touching. “Look at you, all famous now. You didn’t forget about me did you?”

 

“Of course not! I’ve just been-”

 

“Busy! I know. Busy with the band. You eat anyone else lately?” Her voice is drowned out by the music and the chatter around them. Lammy glances around to make sure no one heard that.

 

“No, and to be honest it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

 

“You could always take a bite out of me.” Ratty flirts.

 

“I feel like that would be rude to whoever owns this place.”

 

“I own this place!” Jittering with excitement

 

“Oh, then absolutely.”

 

They fuck. There’s a lot of biting. It’s not a big deal. Let’s move on.

 

“I honestly don’t know why we even play this bullshit hometown halloween garbage.” Snaps Lammy out of a daydream. It’s her drummer.

 

“Lammy wanted to.” Her bassist answers.

 

“Why did Lammy want to?” Drummer again. The other two turn to look at her for a response.

 

“I- I dunno. You guys didn’t have fun?” Lammy stutters.

 

“We’re big time now dude. We don’t need to do this kind of shit. This is our Job.” The keyboardist.

 

“I got to see Ratty from high school.”

 

“None of us care about your dumb GSA friends.” The drummer says. “We have more cash than this whole town combined.” there’s a lull in the conversation. Lammy remembers the sounds of her small town at night.

 

“God you guys suck so much now.” Lammy mumbles, sulking at the back of the pack.

 

“Here we go again folks. Fucking speak up if you’re going to be an asshole.”

 

“You guys suck! We make punk music right?” The drummer rolls her eyes as the rest of the band nods at her. “How the fuck are we - three millionaires - supposed to be punk if we can’t even go back to our roots.”

 

“You sound like a fucking documentary. ‘And they never forgot where they came from’ bullshit. I hated it here. We all did.” The drummer says. He’s not wrong

 

“Also just because we’re rich doesn’t mean we can’t hate the government.” The keyboardist chimes in.

 

“Yeah but it’s hypocritical! The government doesn’t fucking touch us.”

 

“I’m kind of with Lammy on this one.” The bassist says.

 

“Shut the fuck up dude. What about taxes? We pay more taxes now than we ever did before.”

 

“Good! We have enough money to buy the house my mom lives in 30 times over. We should be paying more taxes.” Lammy says. The bassist nods quietly.

 

“Here.” The drummer pulls a checkbook out of his bag, drops it on the sidewalk in front of him, kneels down and starts writing. “This is your cut of what the next album is predicted to sell. Take it and fuck off.” She stands back up and offers it to Lammy

 

“This is kind of extreme.” The bassist says.

 

“If she doesn’t like what we’re saying then she doesn’t have to say it with us.” The drummer replies.

 

“I like what we’re saying I just think its hypocritical.”

 

“Just take the fucking money.” The drummer snaps, shaking the slip at her.

 

“Alright fine! Whatever! Fuck you guys anyway.”

 

“Yeah fuck you too. Find your own way home.”


	3. The evening of Oct 3, 2017: Appetizer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy does a b&e, looks at some photos, and has a nice conversation with her doorman.

Lammy had been following this guy for weeks. She watched him almost drug at least three different women on three separate occasions in three bars that made her skin crawl. Three times she ‘accidentally’ knocked over the spiked drinks, three times she nervously offered to buy new ones. 

 

This was what made sense to her. If a person tries to drug another person once, it could be anything. It could be an accident, they could have something pre-arranged. Twice made her suspicious, but to Lammy it wasn’t a sure thing. If she saw it three times then it was a pattern, and it was never going to stop. This is what made sense to Lammy.

 

It’s reflex at this point. As she watches the third set of pills float lazily down the glass and dissolve into the amber liquid her stomach actually growls. In a move she has practiced hundreds of times before, she stands, crosschecks the room for oncoming traffic, bumps into someone, apologizes profusely, and stabilizes herself on the counter. Whoops.

 

“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry, here.” She digs through her pockets, fumbling past the rough handle of her pocket knife to the ten dollar bill she knows is stashed there. Her target always runs by the third time around. “Please, here. Take this. I’m so sorry. I really should learn when it’s time to quit. I’m sorry.” She stumbles out the door, straightens her back, and watches her target climb into his car and peel off.

 

He’s not hard to follow. She knows where he’s going. He thinks the brick and mortar of his home can keep him safe from the big bad wolf. She parks her bike a half block away. Sprints towards the house just in time to be seen from up the driveway; just in time to watch the pig fumble with his keys and slam the door behind him. She frowns, frustrated, but determined. She circles around the back of the house, sees an open window on the second floor billowing out steam. Starts to climb before she realizes the back door is unlocked.

 

She shrugs, content as she lets herself in. The shower running in the upstairs washroom as she locks eyes with her target. She grabs a towel from a towel rack in the kitchen on her way through the house, presses it up against the man’s throat and slices right through it. Most of the blood is caught by the towel, the rest - she hopes - by her clothes.

 

She’s evolved past just dragging a body out in the open, evolved so much that she can just let it fall into a plain black garbage bag. She takes note of her surroundings before leaving. A wedding photo in a brightly polished gold frame catches her eye. The glass is broken in such a way that she can’t see the woman’s face, but can tell she’s happy. Her arms are flung around an image of the man she just killed. She can’t tell if they’re kissing behind the crack.

 

Her eyes flick over the room, barely noticing a few scattered beer cans, not unusual. She notices a bass guitar in one corner in a state of disrepair. She considers re-stringing it before she leaves. She scoffs at the thought as the upstairs shower turns off.

 

“Hun? Is that you?” A woman's voice calls from upstairs. Lammy tries to ignores it as she slings the bag over her sholder, walks outside, down the drive and back to her bike. She fixes the bag to the back with a collection of bungee cords and drives home. The lobby of her apartment is almost completely empty, save for a security guard who tips his hat.

 

“Miss Lamb.”

 

“How are you Jeffrey?”

 

“I’m well Miss Lamb, very well. I hope we’re staying out of trouble?” He jokes.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it Jeff.” He buzzes her up. Lammy’s apartment is objectively huge. An enormous ‘everything room’ is dominated by a spacious and fully stocked kitchen. For now though she drops the body into a chest freezer hidden by the floorboards, locks the facade into place, and forgets about it. She rolls the stiffness out of her joints as she lies down in bed, grabbing a guitar off its mount on the wall above her and strumming absentmindedly. She lets the solid wood of the guitar’s heavy construction press her into the mattress, and dozes off with it still in her hands.


	4. The morning of Oct. 10th, 2017: Teppanyaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy does some cooking and hangs out alone in her apartment.

Just like the meat from a butcher, the meat of a human being gets sweeter and nicer to eat as it ages. Some time in a cooler helps the connective tissue break down, and while eight days is a short time to dry age a piece of meat, a man this big will last until the end of the month, which is why, instead of something good like breast tissue, Lammy stands in her kitchen preparing a calf. 

 

She reminds herself that it’ll all be worth it. Bobbing her head to the music that permeates the room, she joylessly cuts the flesh from bone, dropping it into a waiting crock-pot. She glances up at the naked body hung from the ceiling in front of her, takes in all the juicier cuts she could be eating instead of trying to pull pork out of a completely different animal.

 

She goes back to her work, cleaning what remains from the bone and throwing it into her dishwasher. She sells them now, it’s a nice little income, but it does mean that her dishwasher is usually full of bones, which is not great.

 

She used to prepare ingredients into little ramekins like a cooking show. It helped her feel more normal about it. Now she just dumps things straight from the package. She remembers reading, or maybe being told, that no chef can eyeball a quarter cup of anything, but a good chef knows that it doesn’t really even matter all that much. A cup of brown sugar might as well be half a bag, or maybe that's not enough, but who honestly cares when you’re going to blast it on medium low for eight hours. 

 

She puts the lid on and shoves it into the back corner of her counter. She lazily wipes whatever detritus is left into her dishwasher and sets it going. She grabs a can of soda from her fridge, throws herself down on a leather couch in the center of the room, and thinks about turning on the TV. Ultimately she decides not to. She just looks up at the ceiling fan. Eight hours is a long time away. 

 

She stands up again, considers the corpse taking pride of place in her kitchen. She notices a wedding ring. Slips it off with a pang of guilt. Examines it closely as she takes it to her bathroom. She takes a small, dark wooden jewelry box out from under the sink, and drops the ring among her other trophies. As she’s about to close the box a watch catches her eye with its delicate white gold construction and jade green face. She thinks it’s probably been long enough since that one. She picks it up and slips it on. It’s a little chunky on her wrist, but she kind of likes that.

 

She thinks about calling Ratty as she examines the light coursing through the jade’s veins. She opens their text history. The last thing between them is before she killed the pork currently slow-cooking in her kitchen.

 

“Godspeed my child :prayer:”

 

She decides against it.

 

She locks the box, puts it away and goes back to her couch. She can feel her hands shaking against the cold metal can of her drink. Eight hours is a long time away. She remembers thinking the exact words: “He thinks the brick and mortar of his home can keep him safe from the big bad wolf” earlier. She laughs at that.

 

“Am I a wolf?” She asks noone.

 

Eight hours is a long time away.

 

The song changes.

 

“Hey,” Lammy says aloud to noone. “I like this song.”

 

Eight hours is a long time away.


	5. The afternoon of Oct 12th, 2017: Takeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy goes shopping and has an unfortunate encounter.

“I don’t know why you insist on trying this every time Lammy.” She looks around. The dark walls of Remains Restored are lined with shelves and shelves of animal remains, picked clean of any flesh and bleached.

 

“I need more room.” She stutters. Though it’s not necessarily true, extra space is always nice to have.

 

“I know, every time it’s you need more room, but I can’t sell half a skeleton.”

 

“Just wait until I finish the other half then.”

 

“I don’t even want to know what that means.”

 

“Duck, c’mon. I’m not even asking you to pay me yet, just hold onto it until I get the rest.” She’s starting to get frustrated.

 

“Right, let me just ‘hold onto’ some human remains for you.” Lammy clenches her fists and rumples her brow. She reaches into her bag and finds a piece of a broken guitar neck. She keeps it hidden in her hand and grounds herself on it. She focuses on the texture of the wood as she starts to get actually angry.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do.” She says, suddenly stern.

 

“Oh my God shut the fuck up Lammy.”

 

“You’re a fucking cheapskate. Do you have any idea what I do to get these for  _ you.”  _ Lammy snaps.

 

“Oh and I’m sure you don’t go home and jack off with your bloody little hands.”

 

“Where do you get off? You think it’s cool being the worst kind of person to deal with?” 

 

“Oh yeah, the insufferable washed up tranny is going to lecture me about my customer service. Listen to me. I am not going to buy half a human skeleton.”

 

“I’m not asking you to buy anything right now! Just fucking take--”

 

Their argument is interrupted by a scream from behind the store. Lammy - suddenly forgetting their disagreement - pushes past the counter, ignoring the stairs down to the store’s private basement, and peeks out the back door. A man stands over a cowering figure. He has a gun pressed against their head. Lammy ducks back into the store.

 

“What’s going on?” Duck the shop owner asks.

 

“Give me your scarf.” Lammy ignores him, grabbing a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and pulling her hood up.

 

“What’s going on?” He repeats.

 

“Mugging I think?” Duck blanks, pulling his ridiculous hipster boy scarf off and hanging it over, expressionless. He sits down on the floor.

 

“This is just what I need.” He says aloud. Lammy wraps the scarf around the lower part of her face and ducks out the back exit. She’s covered by a rolling dumpster, but the situation is going left quickly. She can see from her hiding spot that the man has his penis out. She looks away reflexively, down at the ground, and notices that the dumpster’s wheels are rust free. She thinks it must’ve been moved recently. She realizes that it’s perfectly in line for her to push it and crush the assailant against the wall behind him.

 

“You’re going to suck my cock or I’m going to blow your brains out.” Lammy hears as she braces her back against the dumpster.

 

“Please I have cash in my wallet.” She hears as she starts the dumpster going. A metallic rumbling reverberates through it as it vibrates across the uneven ground. She hears a gunshot, feels the dumpster kick to one side, hears another gunshot and feels the dumpster kick again, and then come to a clattering halt as it pins the assailent against a wall.

 

“God, fuck.” She hears him say as she reaches around the side of the dumpster, grabs his victim by the shirt collar, and drags them into cover. She pops out, kicks him in the wrist, he drops his gun. She grabs it, quickly adjusts to its weight in her hand, levels it at the attackers head, and pulls the trigger without thinking. She looks down at the hunk of metal, thanks the cold October night for her gloved hands, and drops it into the dumpster.

 

“Run away.” The victim, who is all too eager to comply, nods, climbs from the ground, and bolts.

 

“Fuck this.” Lammy hears from behind her, she turns to see Duck kneeling with his hands on his head. “Fuck this whole shit.”

 

“I’ll give you the bones right now for free, and you can have the other half for free.” Lammy says.

 

“Give it two weeks and I’ll take 50%.”

 

“Fuck. Fine.” she says, too shaken to argue.


	6. The early morning of Oct 13th, 2017: Stuffing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy reorganizes her refrigerator.

It’s half past midnight by the time Lammy gets home. All she could find at Remains Restored was semi-translucent white plastic garbage bags. A mass of meat and blood is visible through the bag. It’s not identifiable, but it is visible. The lobby is once again empty save for Jeffrey; ever vigilant.

 

“Late night trip to the butcher Miss Lamb?”

 

“Hunting actually.”

 

“Fascinating. I haven’t know you to hunt.”

 

“It’s something I’m trying out.”

 

“Let me know how it goes.”

 

“Will do. G’night Jeff.”

 

“Good night Miss Lamb.”

 

Lammy dumps the bones back into their tray in the chest freezer, they start to stink otherwise. She tips her kitchen fridge forward, letting everything fall out onto the floor. A can of soda cracks open with a messy hiss, she grabs it quickly and tosses it into the sink. She replaces the mountain of food with the body, hunched over in an unnatural position, she puts the lowest shelf that’ll still fit back into the fridge and piles her essentials on top of it. The rest of the food goes into a cooler with all the ice in her freezer.

 

It won’t last very long she thinks.

 

Maybe I could take it to the food bank tomorrow she thinks.

 

Yeah. I’ll be a good millionaire she thinks.

 

She goes to bed, tries to forget about what just happened, ultimately she can’t and wakes up at four AM when her phone buzzes. It’s a text from Ratty.

 

“Ur bone guy on PNN!”

 

She turns on the TV. Duck is being interviewed in front of his store on the news.

 

“Son of a bitch.” Lammy says out loud. She turns the volume up. 

 

“I never seen anything like it. I saw the guy come out, pull a gun out of his own pocket and blow the other guy’s head off. Then she- sorry- he grabs the body and runs off with it. I’ve never seen anything like that.” Lammy knows that’s bullshit, but she’s glad he’s at least covering for her. She texts Ratty back:

 

“Do u know ne good food banks?”

 

She lets the news fade into the background, falling back asleep during a story about a water-skiing parakeet.


	7. The morning of Oct 13th, 2017: Aperitif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy goes to the food bank.

It had been a long time since Lammy had been in a food bank. She feels guilty at that, resolves to come back more often as she mulls over a can of expensive caviar. She normally wouldn’t buy this kind of thing for herself, but she remembers wanting to try it. This might be the longest line she’s ever waited in, or it might just be the weight of the cooler that’s making it seem that way. 

 

“Excuse me,” A familiar voice. Lammy turns to see a woman, taller than her with a tuft of blonde hair. “I’m sorry to bother you, I’m just asking around and I was wondering if you’ve seen this man?”

 

She holds up a phone with a cracked screen, on it is the wedding photo from her pulled pork’s house. The woman in front of her, and the pig currently sitting in her stomach.

 

“No, I’m sorry.” Lammy lies. “Who is he?” The woman takes a deep breath, sighs, considers her phone screen for a moment.

 

“He’s…”  Lammy puts the cooler down and gestures for the woman to sit. She smiles thankfully and does. “my husband.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Lammy says.

 

“I know. How’d a hot young hot thing like me end up with some 60 something.”

 

“Yeah, that too.” Lammy says, starting to lose focus on what she’s saying. The woman looks up and cocks an eyebrow at her. Lammy suddenly feels very sick.

 

“I mean I’m not proud, but he pays the bills and puts a roof over my head.”

 

“Sounds like a real scumbag.” Lammy’s filter is falling apart.

 

“He had his moments.” Lammy considers the stranger for a moment, she considers the photo on the phone.

 

“Come stay with me.” Who the fuck said that, Lammy thinks as it comes out of her mouth.

 

“Excuse me?” Good, a chance to backtrack, better think of something quick.

 

“I’m like, a rockstar.” Alright, there she goes again. The woman laughs a perfect kind of laugh.

 

“I don’t even know your name dude.” She says, not in the way where she’s being transphobic, just in the way where people say dude sometimes.

 

“I’m Lammy.” Lammy says.

 

“Katy.” Katy replies.

 

“I’ll just like, give you my address and if you feel like it you can stop by okay?”

 

“You sure?” Katy asks, opening her contacts and handing over her phone for Lammy to type the address into.

 

“Yeah. No commitment. Give me until later to clean up and then. Yeah.” Katy laughs again.

 

“Alright rock-star.” She says.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Oh, are you dropping that off?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“There’s a separate line for donations.” She points.

 

“Oh, thanks.” She drops off her cooler and starts to head home, texting Ratty as she goes.

 

“EMERGENCY”

“WIFE OF PORK COMING TO MY HOME.”

“HELP”

“HELP”

“WTF WHY?”

“I INVITED HER”

“LAMMY WHY?”

“I DUNNO”

“SHE SEEMED COOL”

“Lammy. I am speaking to you as your pastor now. You cannot do this.”


	8. The afternoon of Oct 13th, 2017: Main Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy has to clean up before Katy visits.

“Miss Lamb.”

 

“No time Jeffrey. Guests coming later.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Okay. Fuck. Nails. There’s leftover nails from when she had the floor re-done. She grabs a handful of those from her junk drawer. Does she have a hammer? No, of course not. Why doesn’t she have a hammer? Maybe I should text Katy and see if she has one. What? Are you fucking kidding me with that one. She thinks, grabbing a rolling pin out of the same drawer as her meat tenderizers.

 

She nails the lid of her inground chest freezer shut, but because its a fucking rolling pin that she’s using there’s a bunch of sharp nail heads sticking up in the middle of the floor. Which is fine. She can just put a couch over it, so she does. 

 

Alright. Good. Now that’s taken care of. Jeez, Lammy really was panicking over nothing. She decides to treat herself with a soda, why not? She goes to her fridge. Let’s see. Oh yeah. The other body. Fuck. The phone rings.

 

She answers.

 

“Miss Lamb.” It’s Jeffrey.

 

“Hey Jeffrey what’s up?” grabbing a fistfull of the coiled wire.

 

“I’m about to turn the incinerator so if you have any garbage you should send it down.”

 

“Do you see what goes into the garbage?”

 

“Miss Lamb, you pay a lot of money to live in this building. Your privacy is part of my job.”

 

“So you don’t?”

 

“No Miss Lamb, nobody does.”

 

Lammy hangs up. She grabs the body, still in its clearish garbage bag, and drags it out to the garbage shoot. She stuffs it in and hears it clatter and thunk all the way down.

 

Okay. Now. Are there any other bodies we’ve forgotten about. No. No? Right? Maybe. That’s gambling I guess. Lammy throws herself down on the newly moved couch.

 

“Fuck.” She mutters to herself. “I really wanted to eat that one.”

 

“I should change my shirt.” She can smell herself, which is never a good sign. So she does.

 

Lammy’s phone buzzes in her pocket. Unknown number.

 

“Hey, its Katy”

“From the foodbank”

“Could you buzz me up?”

 

“Oh I think I actually have to come get you.”

“Sit tight.”

 

“Ok”

“B quick”

“This place is 2 rich for my blood lol”

 

Lammy is already halfway out her front door when she notices two pairs of mens shoes. She grabs them and throws them into the sink. She’ll garberate them later.

 

She gets in the elevator, feels her palms sweating as the bright red number above the door ticks down to zero. The box dings, a computerized voice announces the arrival of the ground level, and the doors slide open to reveal Katy from the food bank.

 

“Oh hey.” She says.

 

“Hey.” Lammy replies, her voice shaking slightly.

 

“Sorry, thank you for coming to get me, your doorman is kind of-”

 

“Hold on one sec.” Lammy leans out the elevator door. “Jeffrey!” She calls.

 

“Yes Miss Lamb?” he replies, sounding bored and not looking up from his newspaper.

 

“This is my new friend Katy please be nice to her.”

 

“Of course Miss Lamb.”

 

“Alright. C’mon up.”

 

The ride up is quiet, but not tense. Lammy takes a second to examine Katy for the first time.

 

“You brought a bag?” Lammy asks.

 

“Oh, yeah. Just a change of clothes.”

 

“Cool.”

 

“Holy shit.” Katy says as she crosses the threshold. “This might be the biggest room I’ve ever been in.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true.” Lammy says, crossing to the kitchen and stuffing the shoes down the garburator and catching Katy’s attention.

 

“Is this your kitchen?” She asks, marvelling at - oddly - Lammy’s extensive display of knives. 

 

“Uh, no it’s my…” Lammy pauses to think. “I was gonna say something rude but I don’t really even know you that well yet and also I couldn’t think of something.” Katy laughs.

 

“‘It’s my knife room’ could have worked.” Katy says.

 

“That kind of sucks though.”

 

“You’re right.” Katy says. There’s a short silence as Katy takes in the rest of the kitchen. “So… you cook?” Lammy suddenly feels quite sick. 

 

“I am a very good cook.” She stammers.

 

“Oh yeah? You should cook for me tonight.” Katy says. 

 

“I just gave away all of my food so… we can order a pizza.”

 

“Pizza sounds good too.”

 


	9. The evening of Oct 13th, 2017: Midnight Snack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy and Katy enjoy some pizza.

It’s pretty late, the only light in the room comes through the window from the glowing city below and the fireplace. Lammy sits a few inches from Katy, strumming idly on a guitar. 

 

“This might be the be the best pizza I’ve ever had.” Katy says through a mouthful of meat and cheese.

 

“This has been a pretty big day for you huh?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Katy replies, trying to swallow way too much at once.

 

“Biggest room, best pizza.” Lammy lists.

 

“Cutest girl.” Katy pokes, her mouth still too full to be intelligible.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing.” Her ‘th’ blurred into an ‘f’ by the last bits of her mouthful. She dips the last of her crust into a little tub of garlic butter, stuffs it down, and drops the mostly empty box from her lap onto the coffee table. She stretches and puts her arm around Lammy, which is incredibly smooth of her. “So, you’re a rockstar.”

 

“I…” Lammy pauses, flustered. “Kind of. I guess I am but the band is on a pretty infinite hiatus.”

 

“How come?”

 

“I uh. I got mixed up in some bad shit, and I wanted to take my music in a different direction y'know? Like I felt like it was disingenuous to keep making songs about how much we hated the government.”

 

“You don’t hate the government anymore?”

 

“Oh yeah absolutely but like... we were too rich to be touched by them. We sold out hard and I guess I had anguish about different things, y’know?”

 

“What kind of anguish?”

 

“I dunno. I guess about being like gay or whatever. I felt like no matter how much money I had I could still connect to other queers. I mean I have like… trauma too. I know you don’t wanna hear about that.”

 

“I mean I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

 

“No like, it’s completely way too fucked up for a first date.”

 

“Date?”

 

“Oh, no, sorry. I misspoke.” Lammy says, turning away to hide her blush.

 

“I don’t mind this being a date.” Katy pulls Lammy closer.

 

“This would be a super weird first date. Like: hey stranger come to my house and I’ll order a pizza.”

 

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest.” There’s a pause as Katy considers the pizza box, ultimately leans in and grabs another slice. “You ever feel bad about the money?”

 

“Oh yeah all the time. I mean that’s why I’m at the food bank offering my bed to strangers right.” It’s not because of that. Lammy realizes that they’re sitting on top of her husband's body. She just keeps that one to herself though.

 

“Oh you don’t have a guest bedroom?” Katy asks. 

 

“Oh no I mean, yeah. I do. I- sorry. I meant my bed as in a bed that I own.”

“I mean if that’s what you want. You bought me a pizza, and I’m-”

 

“You, for sure don’t owe me for that.”

 

“I mean I’ll have--”

 

“Please stop.” Lammy says, standing up, letting her guitar drop to the ground with a hollow thunk and a discordant twang. She starts compulsively organizing pizza boxes into a neat pile. “I mean you’re really beautiful and I really would love to but not because you owe me. Okay?” She turns to see Katy looking a little stamped out.

 

“Alright. Sorry.”

 

“It’s...” Lammy takes a second to take the empty boxes to the trash. She takes a deep breath before returning and plopping down basically on top of Katy. She puts her feet up across Katy’s lap. “When I was 16 I couldn’t pay up to my dealer and since then I don’t think anyone should have to pay for anything with their body.” She realizes the irony of that.

 

“That’s pretty cool of you.” Katy says.

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s almost baseline mediocre of me.” Lammy says, shrugging.

 

“Are you still hungry?”

 

“I could definitely still eat.”

 

“Okay yeah. I didn’t want to be rude but like. I could always eat more.”

 

“I mean there’s no food in the fridge. Worst case is we have leftovers.”

 

“I’ve always wanted to drop like $400 on UberEats.”

 

“Fuck lets just go for it.” Lammy says, pulling up the app.

 

“Get me a buffet of all the good food around here.”

 

“Alright.”  Lammy giggles. She never really tried to have fun with her ridiculous amount of money before. There were all kinds of ridiculous ‘solid gold toilet’ ideas she and her band pitched around in the days after they got signed, and some of the others did, but Lammy was content to live in a big room with a nice kitchen. They place their ridiculous order, and wait.

 

“So what’s your story?” Lammy asks.

 

“I dunno I guess I just have a really good metabolism.” Katy says. Lammy laughs out loud.

 

“No no, like your history.”

 

“Oh.” Katy shrinks into herself a bit. “I dunno. Same as you basically, I just got less lucky. I played bass in kind of a shitty band and I gambled everything on that and ended up marrying my manager. How far away is it?”

 

“They haven’t even started it yet.” Lammy says.

 

“Damn. Can we just wait.”

 

“Yeah sure.”

 

“Food is comforting.”

 

“Yeah.” They wait. Katy rests her eyes, snuggling up to Lammy.

 

“You’re just really soft and warm.” She mumbles. 

 

“You’re… gay.” Lammy says, kind of forgetting that she can say things that aren’t that.

 

“Oh yeah.” Katy yawns. “I love a good girl.”

 

“We should start a band.”

 

“Oh fuck yeah. That would be so cool.”


	10. The morning of Oct. 27th, 2017: Binging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy and Katy jam for the first time. Lammy comes clean about her addiction. Katy wants to help.

The fire has gone out, the city has gone to sleep, and the sun has started to rise on Lammy, who has dozed off, and is alone for the day. She’s woken up by her stomach pains, leaves her room, notices Katy missing, and checks her phone. She scrolls past the 11 missed calls from Ratty, the seemingly hundreds of texts all saying “You cannot do this.” and gets to Katy’s messages.

 

“Hey Lam,”

“Out 4 th day.”

“Gonna see if I can get payout on life insurance”

“See u tn <3”

Lammy smiles weakly, glad that Katy is moving on. She switches over to her burner phone and texts Duck.

 

“Hey. Come get it today.”

“Fucking finally.”

 

Her little smile fades having to deal with this dickhead. She thinks about calling the cops on himn thinks about how many lifetimes he would get with the amount of bodies melting away in his stupid little bone basement. Her smile fades further as she opens the fridge. 

 

Piles and piles of leftover takeout dominate the shelves, and while she loves this shit, she feels so completely empty. She has eaten until full every day, but can’t shake her craving for sweeter fruits. She settles on a half eaten box of greek chicken, smothers it in tutsiki, and throws in some sticky rice just because.

 

She throws herself down on the couch, groaning as her bones feel like they're telescoping. She lies down, lets the cold takeout sit on the floor. She raises her hands in front of her, the pain in her joints making her skin feel like an overtight glove. She tries to pick up her breakfast, hears the shuffling of the plastic fork against cardboard container ring in her ears as she struggles to hold it steady.

 

“God! Fuck!” She shouts, sitting up quickly and whipping the container at a wall. Her vision sways with the exertion. Maybe Katy would be fine with it. She thinks. Maybe Katy doesn’t even have to know.

 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been lying there when the buzzer rings. She lets Duck up. Tells him to pry the nails out of the floorboard, watches him load the last hope of feeling normal into an inconspicuous crate, and drag it out the door.

 

“I’m not paying you for this one.” He says on the way out.

 

“Eat shit and die cunt.” Lammy spits, trying to crush the stars out of her eyes.

 

“I expect clean bones Lammy. Do you have any idea how long-” He’s cut off.

 

“Get the fuck out of my house!” She screams. She doesn’t know how long she lies there in silence. It feels like days. It’s probably like a few hours realistically. She ducks in and out of sleep, finding it hard to differentiate between dreams and reality. Katy doesn’t even have to know. She could go out right now and just take a bite out of someone. There doesn’t even have to be a killing. That’s stupid, she thinks. She’s snapped out of her thoughts as she hears Katy’s keys jangle on the other side of the lock.

 

“Hey Lammy.” Katy says. Lammy waves lazily in response. “I couldn’t get them to pay out on the life insurance policy until he’s been officially declared as dead by the police department, so there’s that.”

 

“I can just give you money Katy.” Lammy groans.

 

“I mean I have a job. It’s fine.” 

 

“Please let me just give you money.”

 

“I’ll think about it.” She says in a way that sounds like she won't. “Anyway I already kind of had my mind set on this and I’ve been looking at it in the same store for ages and I figured, hey, why not? So… Check it out.” Lammy takes a break from her intent focus on the ceiling fan to see Katy kneeling next to the couch anxiously waiting to open a long cardboard box. She gives Lammy a grin as she flips it open to reveal a violin style bass guitar, stained a deep blue.

 

“How did you afford that?” Lammy asks, incredulous.

 

“I told you I have a job dummy. Go get your guitar.” Lammy complies, comforted enough by Katy’s presence that standing and walking doesn’t make her whole body hurt. She pushes the door to her room open, pulls a random guitar off the wall - neck heavy and solid. She focuses her entire being in on the cool venere as she drags herself back out to the living room. Katy is plugging into the apartments central amp and tuning up. 

 

Lammy sits down on the couch, plugs into the second plug, lets the guitar hang heavy around her aching frame. She winces at the cool touch of the metal frets. It takes a lot of concentration at first to get herself moving. Every note and hand position is carefully thought out in split seconds. She’s clearly being sloppy, because Katy shoots her a look before starting in. 

 

Her rhythmic bass tidies Lammy’s playing, helping her fall into a grove. She starts thumping away a little beat on the body with her thumb.

 

“This is.” Katy starts. “A nonsense song.”

 

“Oh you’re going to improv?” Lammy laughs.

 

“Oh yeah. Here we go.”  She takes a deep breath and sings a rhythmic, almost chanting kind of song. Sings about soccer moms and broccoli on Tuesdays. Shit that doesn’t make an ounce of sense but definitely vibes with Lammy. 

 

They must play for several hours. The light filling the room gets warmer and warmer as the sun starts to dip below the skyline. The entire room is filled with Katy’s voice, their music, the room is full of purple darkness when Lammy’s fingers start to bleed.

 

“I gotta stop.” She says only when she sees drops of blood soaking into the couch.

 

“You alright?” Katy asks. Lammy holds up her bleeding fingers in response.

 

“Stigmata.” She exclaims weakly. Katy crosses the room and sits next to Lammy. She sits upright a little bit and kisses the blood off of Lammy’s hand. She watches the blood glisten on her lips and all of a sudden all the warm comfort from their jam session rushes from Lammy’s body. She’s left feeling the same as she did before: Like her bones are too big, her skin is too loose, and absolutely fucking freezing.

 

“Woah. Are you actually okay?” Katy asks. Lammy looks down at her hands. She’s shaking so hard that blood is being comedically flung off. Only it’s not that funny. 

 

“I’m having withdrawal I think.” Lammy says, wondering if that’s the common parlance for that kind of thing. “Experiencing withdrawal maybe? However you say that.”

 

“From what?” Katy asks.

 

“Xanax.” Lammy lies. That seems most realistic, as a chronically anxious person it makes sense that she would have that, she thinks.

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Is that a problem?”

 

“No. No, I wish you had told me sooner.”

 

“I’m sorry. I just thought if you knew...” She trails off.   
  


“No, I mean I could have helped.” Katy says, taking Lammy’s shaking hands and pressing them against her chest, staining her t-shirt. “I don’t know a lot about this kind of thing but maybe… tell me how you’re feeling and I’ll help.”

 

“I…” Lammy breaks down. “I’m so cold all the time and I’m starving and I can’t eat and my skin feels like shit and I can’t pin down exactly how my bones feel, and for a second there I was having so much fun with you and I had to go and ruin it by cutting my hands up like an idiot and-” Katy cuts her off.

 

“Shh, you’re okay.” She picks Lammy up from under the shoulder. “We’re going to bed okay?” Lammy doesn’t even respond, she’s sobbing incoherently at this point; partially from the sick, and partially from the guilt. She barely notices as they reach the bed, as Katy pulls Lammy’s shirt off over her head, drops her pants and rests her gently under the covers. Katy takes a moment to undress and slide into the bed behind Lammy.

 

Still shaking, Katy feels like white hot rock against her back. Katy wraps her arms around Lammy, holding her what feels like tight enough to crush her. Lammy begins to settle slightly.

 

“Comfortable?” Katy asks. Lammy nods. “Good. Did you like my song?”

 

“I felt like that was mostly my song.” Lammy jokes. Katy laughs, filling Lammy’s whole world. Katy tries her best to hold Lammy still. Lammy tries her best to sink into Katy.

 

“You’re shaking a lot.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

 

“I’m so sorry.” Lammy barely notices the tears tracking their way down her face and soaking into the bed.

 

“It’s okay. I got you.” Lammy sleeps eventually. She dreams of talls spires belching smoke into the sky. Dreams of fire and brimstone beneath her feet. Dreams of a city on fire and before her, she dreams of a feast.

 

I can’t take it. She thinks.

 

I’m starving. She thinks.

 


	11. The evening of Nov 29th 2017: TV dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy eats out for the evening. Katy makes a phone call.

Home invasion never really was something she enjoyed. She used to have to do it before she moved out and after she got hooked, but it was always a chore getting used to a new kitchen, not to mention the added risk.

 

It was enough to keep her full, just barely. This was the first time in this spree where the person whose house she was cooking in had almost nothing to cook with. They had two bowls, two plates, two forks, two knives and nothing else. Not even spoons. It was a challenge that Lammy reveled in, and a challenge that she ultimately doesn’t rise to, lazily throwing cubed chunks of meat into microwave boiled water as the stovetop behind her filled the room with the sweet and sour scent of butane gas. 

 

She had taken a moment to make sure her pray lived alone before starting in, paced out the gap between this and the next house over. If anyone important got hurt insurance would pay for the damages.

 

The soup is fine. It’s hard to make anything good when someone doesn’t even have a spice rack. The little packet from the package of instant noodles kind of overpowers any flavor that the chunked pedophile would have added.

 

She wishes silently she hadn’t gone on his computer. That one was a mistake. Lammy’s phone rings, shocking her out of her thoughts. It’s Katy.

 

“What’s up kitty Kat?” Lammy says, swallowing an oversized chunk.

 

“I was just wondering if you were coming home tonight?” Katy says. Lammy smiles when she says ‘home.’

 

“Yeah I just had a craving.” Lammy says, stuffing another bite in her mouth.

 

“What’re you eating?” Katy asks in the tone of voice you would ask someone what they’re wearing in as kind of a half joke.

 

“Uh…” Lammy pauses. “Ramen.” which is technically true.

 

“We have ramen at home.” Katy says.

 

“Yeah, but I wanted this ramen.”

 

“Alright, hurry home.” 

 

“Will do. See ya.” Lammy goes to hang up.

 

“Wait.” Katy says. There’s a pause as Lammy’s heart jumps into her throat. “I love you.” She says all in one breath like someone trying to wade into a cold lake, not knowing what she’ll find at the bottom. Lammy’s heart swells, and if it were anywhere but her throat that would be wonderful. She swallows it, suddenly filled with a very warm, comfortable full body guilt.

 

“I love you too.” Lammy says.

 

“Cool.” Click.

 

Lammy stands, leaving the rest of her soup on the countertop. She drags what’s left of the body up the stairs, into the room with his computer. She shuts it down, pulls out a large bank of hard drives, and takes them out to the driveway where she sets them down carefully. She takes takes the house’s landline and dials 911. She takes the man’s wallet in her other hand while it rings, flipping to his ID.

 

“911. What is your emergency?”

 

“My name is…” She pauses to read it. “John Skunkk. I live at 432 Lafayette Avenue. I run a large scale child pornography ring, and I have decided to commit suicide. I have left my computer hard drive on my driveway, this should have more than enough evidence on it to indict me catch several of my associates. Goodbye.”

 

Lammy hangs up, throws the phone in the kitchen microwave along with the rest of her soup and fork, sets it going, and leaves as sparks start to form. She’s half way down the driveway when the house explodes behind her. She gets on her bike and leaves before anyone even notices.

 


	12. The late evening of Nov 29th, 2017: Purging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy and Katy have a hard conversation.

Katy is sitting on the couch, her bass and a notebook in her lap.

 

“Hey Lammy check th…” She trails off as Lammy barges past her, goes straight to her room and starts to shower off. A few quiet minutes pass before Lammy hears a knock at the bathroom door. “You alright?” Katy asks. Lammy is in the middle of brushing her teeth (in the shower? yes.) and so just lets out a ‘uh huh’ of affirmation. “Can I come in?” Katy asks.

 

Lammy looks down at her hands, there’s almost no blood left. “Give me a second.” She says, toothbrush still in her mouth. She picks up a bar of soap and scrubs, watching the lather turn from pink to white as it washes down the drain. “Okay.”

 

Katy pushes the door open, looks Lammy up and down, meets her eyes. “Are you hiding something from me?”

 

“I’m pretty sure you already knew I was trans right? Like I don’t even shave my face half the time.”

 

“That’s not what I meant Lammy.” Katy says.

 

“Here c’mon over here.” Lammy says, gesturing for Katy to get in the shower with her. Katy crosses her arms at Lammy.

 

“I’m not gonna do that.” Katy says, crossing her arms 

 

“Alright.” Lammy shrugs, going back to her soaps.

 

“Lammy.” Katy snaps.

 

“I’m not! I promise I’m not.” Lammy says, crossing a line in her own mind.

 

“Okay. That’s all I wanted.” Katy says, the tension seeming to drop out of her body.

 

“Hey.” Lammy says.

 

“What?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

The rest of the night feels normal. They go to bed without a whole lot of talking. 

 

Lammy wakes with a start to find Katy kneeling over her on the bed. She feels a sharp pain in her left arm, tries to move it, and finds it chained to the bed frame. Katy’s eyes widen as she realizes Lammy is awake. Lammy tries to grab her with her free hand, but Katy jumps out of the way.

 

“What are you doing?” Lammy asks, still groggy.

 

“I- I know you’re back on it and I- I want to do what’s best for you. So just tell me where it is and we can get this over with.” She turns her back.

 

“Where what is?” Lammy asks, legitimately confused.

 

“Your xanax.” Katy says.

 

“Oh shit, no-” Katy turns her back and walks into the ensuite bathroom. “It’s. I don’t have any. It’s not there.” Lammy says, starting to come around.

 

“I have to start looking somewhere, and today you completely ignored me to get in here so… It’s gotta be here.” Katy says.

 

“No it’s- this- you don’t understand.” Lammy starts to panic, struggling against the cuff. “Please. Hold on one second. Let me explain.” She starts trying to unlock the cuff where it’s attached to the bed frame.

 

“I’m sorry Lammy but this is what you want.”

 

“No, hold on.” Lammy yanks as hard as she can on the cuff, causing it to jangle loudly around the metal bedframe and tighten against her wrist. She winces.

 

“What’s in this locked box under the sink?” Katy asks. Lammy turns to see the jade faced watch on her bedside table. Her heart suddenly feels like it’s trying to kick its way out of her chest.

 

“Katy. Trust me you don’t want to see that.” Lammy presses her face into the pillow as she hears it smash on the bathroom floor, hears various metallic trinkets plink out little tunes as they roll away. She focuses on the wet spots forming in front of her eyes. “Please don’t look Katy. Please.” She says, more asking a higher power than the woman she loves.

 

“What… where did you get this?” She doesn’t have to look to know what she’s holding. “Look at me Lammy.” She does anyway. She watches the light dance off the ring’s gilded edges.

 

“I-” Lammy starts. She stops when she sees Katy’s face: crumpled in anguish, her eyes full of fire. 

 

“You killed him.” She spits.

 

“I was at a bar and he-”

 

“Shut up Lammy.”

 

“He was going to r-”

 

“I said shut up Lammy!” She screams. She sits down on the edge of the bed, clutches the ring like a lifeline. She rocks back and forth, not knowing what to do. “I- You knew the whole time. From the second you met me you knew.”

 

“What could I have said?”

 

“Why take me home?” Katy is shaking, staring Lammy down like she wants to burn a hole in her head. “Are you just some kind of pervert? Were you going to kill me? What was your plan?”

 

“I didn’t have one. I just- you seemed nice.” Lammy’s words are met with a sock in the eye. 

 

“I- so I walk up to you with a photo of my dead husband, who you killed, and you thought I seemed nice?”

 

“I’m sorry.” Katy stands suddenly. She unlocks the handcuff from the bed frame, leaving it on Lammy’s wrist.

 

“Do you have any idea-”

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what? For killing him? For letting me hope that he was still alive? You-” Katy hiccups with her whole body. “You let me fall in love with you Lammy.”

 

She’s dressed and out the door before Lammy can respond.

 


	13. The late evening of Nov. 30th: First Communion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy goes to church.

The cops aren’t coming. It’s been 18 hours. She’s been sitting in bed, the same spot, just feeling the pain of her blackened eye. She might have gotten up to piss once or twice. The cops aren’t coming. She needs to get out. She needs to talk. She throws on sweat pants and a jacket. 

 

“Good evening Miss Lamb.”

 

“Hey Jeff.”

 

“Miss Kat just left in quite the hurry. Trouble in paradise?”

 

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

 

“I called her a cab, but she specifically asked me not to tell you. I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s probably for the best.” Lammy turns to leave.

 

“I hope things start to look up for you Miss Lamb.” Jeffrey says, going back to his newspaper.

 

She walks out the front door of her apartment building and just starts walking. She walks for what must be several hours into a part of town that she’s never seen before. A run down church stands before her.

 

“Why the fuck not.” She says out loud. She crosses the threshold, sees a mousey- no, Ratty looking woman in a black coat - a cassock, she thinks she’s heard it called - lying across the altar. The air smells like wet dust as Ratty throws herself upright.

 

“You fucking dirtbag.” Ratty says, charging towards Lammy and reeling back for a left hook before realizing she’s already had one tonight. She calms down, settles for a weak tap on the chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“Good to see you too.” Lammy says.

“I cannot fucking believe you. You didn’t actually-” Ratty is cut off.

 

“I did.” Ratty takes a deep breath, shaking with rage.

 

“I used to think I got you Lammy. You and me, Ratty and Lammy. Two sides of the same coin.” She swallows her rage for a moment. “I always thought - if I wasn’t such a coward I’d be out there with you, but this? This is crossing a line.”

 

“I know.” Lammy says, dejected.

 

“Oh you know? You know. Good!” She throws her hands up. “I’m glad you know, because for the entire time I’ve known you you’ve never known when you’ve gone too far.”

 

“Can we do a confessional or whatever.” Lammy asks.

 

“Can you-” Ratty is shocked out of her rage. “I- yeah. Fucking, lets go to the box and you can confess your sins.”

 

She slaps the side of the booth before ducking inside. Lammy follows her. “Good fucking christ. Do you mind if I smoke? This is kind of heavy.” Lammy makes a ‘go ahead’ motion with her hand before realizing that she can't be seen.

 

“Yeah. Go ahead.” Lammy smells a distinctly skunky smell wafting through the partition.

 

“Alright.” Ratty coughs. “So you killed someone’s shitty husband and then fell in love with her.”

 

“That’s the jist of that.”

 

“Does she know about the eating part?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Well fuck there’s that at least.” She takes a deep drag, coughs so hard it sounds like she might puke. “So what are you going to do?”

 

“I want to like… go to her and tell her I’m sorry and shit.”

 

“Okay, yeah. I’m sorry for killing your husband. That sounds great.”

 

“Well what do you think I should do?”

 

“I think we should go back to the system we had before, where we don’t get other people involved in your terrible life, and if you need someone to fuck you can call me.”

 

“We didn’t have sex.”

 

“Oh, good. You keep telling me things like that and I don’t know what to say but ‘oh, good’” Lammy watches the dust settle on the intricate trim of the boxes interior.

 

“So how do I get her back?” Lammy asks.

 

“Oh my fucking God.” Ratty groans. “You don’t. You absolutely the fuck don’t. This isn’t a fucking teen beach movie. You’re not going to recover this. The only way you’re getting back with this girl is if she decides to forgive you on her own, which is not going to happen because you catapulted her life into turmoil.”

 

“I-” Lammy starts.

 

“Shut up. Now, did you do a good thing by killing a potential serial rapist, of course. Obviously. Did you continue to be doing a good thing when you invited his wife into your life? No.”

“I’m just so lonely Ratty.” Lammy says, thunking her head against the divider.

 

“I know. If I had to write an essay about you the first thing I would write down would be lonely.”

 

“What would be the second thing?”

 

“Either talented or ruthless.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Yeah. Try not to get your head stuck in the box.” She takes a long drag, letting out a string of wet and frankly kind of gross coughs. “Maybe it’s time for you to quit.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

“Bullshit. You don’t want to quit because its hard and you used to be able to get away with not quitting. Now you want to have relationships with people who are less fucked up than you, so it’s time to quit.”

 

“That’s kind of mean.”

 

“Yeah well, that’s why we’re friends.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Alright. So I’ll lock you in my closet until the cravings fade into the background.” Lammy takes a moment to think about this proposal.

 

“What if it never stops?”

 

“then i guess your past follows you around just like everyone else.”


	14. Several evenings of late December: Barbecue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy has a bad dream.

Sleep is near impossible. A burning, swelling, gouging pain right behind her eyes keeps her awake most nights. Blinking is even difficult sometimes. It feels like dragging a wet mop over carpet.

 

When she finally passes out from exhaustion her dreams are twice as tiring. She wakes up, joints aching, mouth always dry, and hungry. So fucking hungry. The longest break she ever took was two years, between the first and the second. Her room has a window, but she sleeps only when she can, so it’s hard to judge how much time has gone by. In any case it already feels longer.

 

She has nightmares this time around. Night terrors might be a better word. She doesn’t care. She’s afraid, the feeling of drowsiness becomes synonymous with dread. She’s always grateful for the horror show when it comes.

 

She stands on burning coals. A street of hot tar baking in the summer sun. The sky is overcast, but heat still rises from the pavement. The stores around her are burned out, hollow shells. She sees Remains Restored, a pile of ash and bones, follows the spires of it’s frame up into the sky like trees after a forest fire.

 

And she can feel them. They cut her to pieces, the cold pressed steel. Only $19.99 for the whole miracle blade system she thinks. A handle so ingenious you can cut from top to bottom no matter how hard she tries to get her hands in the way.

 

Is this hell? Smoke fills her lungs, sweet hickory dries and cracks her skin. She coughs as the street’s tar hardens into her body. She is dragged down by the weight of it. She feels the cold wood of a dining room table press against her knees and it’s almost comforting before her weight becomes backbreaking. She falls forward, unable to keep herself upright. Feels the cold metal of a serving tray press up against her bare chest, 

 

Cold drops of sweat roll across her brow. Watching them pool in front of her eyes, helpless to do anything but watch. She thinks about dragging herself up from the cold floor of the van, finally feeling how cold it really was, feeling the uncushioned vibration of a speeding vehicle against her forehead. She thinks about how long it’ll be bruised for. 

 

She thinks about the blood, comfortingly warm as it pools around her. She lets it take her over and fills her lungs at it begins to boil giving off it’s delicious copper scent. She struggles to come up for air, all too panicked to remember the pavement caking her lungs. She feels abrasive metal wires tighten around her neck, feels them cut her to the bone. They don’t have far to go. The boiling blood burns as it melts the tar out of her lungs, melts everything out of her lungs, melts her lungs out of her lungs. She screams, breathlessly gurgling. 

 

Her ribcage kicks against her chest. She feels as though she’s being shaken. She is being shaken, and in an instant she wakes up. Ratty is standing over her, panicked.

 

“Lammy! Throw up!” She’s yelling. Lammy rolls over and throws up.

 

“Why?” She asks, rolling back over.

 

“You were choking I couldn’t remember if you’re supposed to reach into someone’s throat when that’s happening and so I thought this was probably the best option.” Lammy gives her a weak thumbs up.

 

“Do you think if I killed myself right now I would go to hell?” Lammy asks as Ratty dabs her forehead with a cold cloth.

 

“Oh absolutely, no doubt in my mind.”

 

“Damn it.”

 

“Yep. Sorry to say it, but you would go straight there.”

 

“Okay. Yeah. I get it.”

 

“Like-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Got it, sorry.” Ratty apologizes. “You’re kind of lucky the rice cooker went off when it did.” She hands Lammy a bowl of white rice.

 

“Can you bleed in it just a little bit?”

 

“I’m not going to do that no matter how many times you ask me to.” Lammy is confused for a second.

 

“Have I asked more than once?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Sorry.” It’s not long before she’s asleep again. It’s hard to tell, but the terrors do come back. Each time they do the burns cool, the aches fade. In time it all fades. In time the constant retching - always bringing up nothing - fades into nauseous gagging. In time the deafening headaches fade into the constant background buzzing of an amp. In time the constant feeling of rot, of death, turns into a gentle ‘un-life.’

 

Hardly better, but better. Everything hurts, but eventually she forgets. She stands for the first time in days. She feels the bones of her bare feet against the cold wooden floor. It feels wet. Ratty must’ve mopped. She feels sallow, like a walking corpse, but she forgets about it.

 

“Ratty.” She’s asleep in a nearby rocking chair. She wakes with a start.

 

“W-What?”

 

“I wanna go burn down remains restored.” 

 

“Alright.”


	15. The evening of December 25th, 2017 Barbetwo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy commits arson.

“You can’t drag me out of my own fucking store! I have rights!” He keeps kicking and screaming. Ratty seems completely disconnected from what she’s doing. The owner notices Lammy for the first time, locking eyes with her. “Are you doing this?”

 

“No, she is.”

 

“I am.” Ratty says

 

“Duck. I’ve been doing some thinking.” Lammy crouches down and gets on his level. “We’re generally bad people. You make your money off of death, me, I have an addiction to eating people. In my mind you’re worse than me because you’ll sell any old corpse, but we both have our flaws, don’t we Duck?”

 

“What are you doing?” He asks.

 

“I have one friend in the whole world,” She gestures to Ratty. “And I’m sick and tired of being lonely for bad reasons. So I’m going to do us a favor.” She lights a rag hanging out of a bottle of gasoline on fire. Duck’s eyes widen in recognition.

 

“Wait, wait. No, you can’t” Duck scrambles. Lammy throws the bottle through the front window if the store. It snags on the blinds and lights them on fire. Ratty tightens her grip on Duck, who struggles to get up. The three of them watch as the flames climb into the ceiling. Ratty finally lets go when she’s convinced the fire has taken. The two of them turn to leave.

 

“I’ll call the fucking cops on you.” Duck says.

 

“And tell them what? Your store full of dead bodies was burned to the ground?” Ratty asks rhetorically. Duck stutters for a second, he takes a deep, shaking breath and runs into the building. There are a few bursts from a fire extinguisher, but ultimately not enough.

 

“Oh fuck.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“I think that’s actually better for us.” Lammy says. The cops will come soon, they’ll find the pig's body. Katy will get her closure. She lets herself think about Katy for the first time since she was locked up. She thinks about home.

 

“Hey can we go back to mine. I’m all for like, conquering addiction but I’m sick of sleeping on a half inch futon.”

 

“Yeah that sounds pretty good.”

 

“Oh, Miss Lamb. How nice to see you. Merry Christmas.”

 

“Is it Christmas?” Ratty nods guiltily.

“Who is this?” Jeffrey asks.

 

“I’m Lammy’s pastor and I’m here to make sure she doesn't abuse prescription medication.” Ratty says, not missing a beat.

 

“Very well. You two enjoy your night.”

 

Lammy missed her apartment. She can’t help but wonder if her withdrawal would have been any better at home. She shrugs it off and throws herself down on her couch. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of distressed leather and sweaty butt. It’s been too long, she thinks. She rolls over and sees Katy’s bass. She must’ve left it behind. It’s the last thing she remembers before falling asleep.

 

Something new happens tonight. She still has the night terrors, but she gets short breaks. The horror show cuts abruptly to black, or maybe a deep blue? It’s hard to tell, but for moments at a time she’s comforted by the endless ocean and it’s deep bass tones.

 

She thinks about how she’s going to get Katy’s bass back to her.


	16. The afternoon of December 29, 2017: Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lammy runs into Katy.

And there she is. For several seconds they can’t break eye contact. The crowd just flows around them like stones in a river. She looks more confused than scared. There’s a moment where Katy can’t figure out if she’s real or not.

 

“Hey.” She waves kind of weakly, her wrist straining under a big bag of groceries.

 

“Hey.” Lammy waves back. “I still have you bass.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you wanna get coffee?” Katy laughs, finally breaking their eye contact, bumping her eyebrows as she looks away.

 

“Like you want to buy me coffee?”

 

“If you want.” Katy takes a moment to consider this. She nods subtly.

 

“I have a lot of questions.” Lammy nods back. “How about I buy my own coffee and you explain yourself to me?”

 

“Deal.”

 

The nearest coffee shop is a cold corporate style chain. Free wifi and chalkboard designs from on high. Lammy gets a hot chocolate, she doesn’t notice what Katy gets. They sit down in a booth across from each other.

 

“So they found the body.” is the first thing Katy says.

 

“Yeah... I burned down the store I sold it to.”

 

“You sold it?” Katy asks, pausing before her first sip.

 

“Actually I gave that one away for free. Normally I sell them.” Katy puts down her cup.

 

“Jesus Christ.” she takes a deep breath. “Jesus fucking Christ. How long have you been doing this for?”

 

“Like… 20 years? Probably yes.”

 

“Are you being honest with me here?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I-” Lammy swallows, steadies herself before moving on. “When I was a kid I- I fell in with the wrong crowd and… I ended up killing someone by accident… and I panicked… and so I ate him.” She spits the last words out like she wants that to fly under the radar. Katy’s eyes go wide.

 

“You-”

 

“He was… he made a joke about eating me alive and it stuck with me and I wasn’t right in the head.”

 

“No shit?” Katy takes a second. She stares wide-eyed into the lotus flower pattern on the top of her drink. She laughs a little bit. “You ate my husband.”

 

“Yep.” She doesn't run away, which is probably the best option. They finish their coffees in silence.

 

“Do you still have my number?” Katy asks.

 

“I- my friend deleted it off my phone so I wouldn’t get tempted to call you.”

 

“That was smart of them.” Katy writes her number on the back of her drink ticket and hands it to Lammy. Lammy looks at it, confused.

 

“Why?”

 

“I need to think about this. I need a lot of time to think about this, but I’m gonna have more questions… so… call me… someday.” Katy says. Lammy takes the ticket and slips it into her wallet.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Yeah. See ya’ Lammy.” She gets up to leave. Lammy stays, examines the lipstick stain on the side of the mug. She takes a deep breath. Maybe someday. 


End file.
